


The Human With A Vallaslin

by Mayamelissa



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: I will not be class blocked, One is not born a true elf, Racism is a learned behavior, Solas is a fucking racist
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-23
Updated: 2016-05-21
Packaged: 2018-05-28 13:20:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,487
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6330817
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mayamelissa/pseuds/Mayamelissa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I was inspired by the story in Dragon Age Origins of Aveline the first female Chevalier and thus this came about. I had yet to find anyone make this suggestion on dragon age kink meme place which means once again I've found myself in that weird gray spot. Also I liked the adopted mod in DAO where you could be any race and still choose the origin you wanted.<br/>For those of you unfamiliar with her story:<br/>http://dragonage.wikia.com/wiki/Aveline_(chevalier)<br/>Nyama Lavellan was taken in by Clan Lavellan when as a babe she was left to die in the woods. She calls them family and they call her one of them. She is not viewed as an outcast by them. They embrace her as their own. She is an elf - no matter her ears or how she was born. The rest of the world will either accept this or burn.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. She is Dalish

In spite of what these shems thought, she was not one of them.

Nyama was Elvhen.

Nyama was a proud child of the forest.

Nyama was Second of Clan Lavellan and the best hunter of those her age. She’d killed a bear at 13 winters old without assistance because most of the clan were resigned to believing that they would starve. Her body was a shrine to the Creators and to each victory she had made for her clan.

Upon her back, a tribute to Andruil had been painted for her hunts that had saved them from starving when all hope was lost.

Markings to Dirthamen on her left arm and to Falon'din on her right. Elgar’nan graced her chest. June decorated her abdomen. Sylaise and Ghilan’nain owned her legs and finally Mythal, the All-Mother, was on her face.

At one point one of her friends had laughed saying, “Keeper! We should place Fen’Harel upon her backside!” His words were still amusing to her in spite of the flagrant disrespect such a marking would be. Or how they might actually draw his gaze upon them all.

So no. She was not one of them. She would never be one of them. And Creators willing,  once she closed the giant hole in the sky she could return back to her clan and never see or hear from these stupid shems again.

Or this flat ear bastard.

“Was it purposeful? You placing a tattoo that openly mocked the Dalish vallaslin?” he questioned and she couldn’t tell if it was intentionally insulting, or he was just naturally this pompous. She curled her lip up at him. “I earned every vallaslin I wear upon my skin, flat-ear,” she snapped the elvhen insult at the one she assumed was a city elf. Disgusting creatures would never understand the wild Dalish. The _true_ elves. “I would never dishonor the Creators, nor my people, by wearing these otherwise.”

“You speak as if you believe yourself Dalish,” he replied calmly though she saw a flash of something dark in his eyes.

“I _am_ Dalish,” she insisted. “In spite of you and everyone else’s delusional thoughts to the contrary, they are my people and I will not stand for your insults!”

Her anger seemed to perplex and catch him off guard, as it did to the other two that were with them. The durgenlan then decided to open his mouth and he went onto her bad side too. “You seem awfully human looking for a Dalish, Kid,” he observed.

“And you seem awfully satisfied to live above ground for a child of the stone,” she spat at him with as much venom as she had towards the bald elf. Dread Wolf take every one of these fools. She wanted to go back home. Help her Keeper and her clan stay safe from bandits or humans that got too close. She had sworn to herself that she would be back in time for the birth of the Keeper’s grandchild before the new life entered the world. Now she was certain she would miss it.

And the anger grew as more time passed.


	2. She Must Stay

She could not leave.

Never mind that they had stolen her weapons, which to be fair was a good thing since she was prone to violence. But the fact that the humans’ religious order had deemed her the enemy and responsible for the death of their leaders, made her even less able to go home. They swore to hunt her down if she tried, and so she had few options.

Returning to her clan with so many after her? No. The clan already dealt with enough of the shems and their stupidity. They did get along with most humans in terms of trading. But for the most part, they tended to avoid getting involved in their politics and ways. They had uneasy dealings with the human Chantry in the past, and still avoided at least one outpost because of Templars who had tried to take her.

She still felt a sense of pride at how she had killed them, even though it had caused a bit of a rift between her and the Keeper for a while.

Her clan would not be safe if she returned to them. And right now, them travelling to Haven was also not a feasible option. So, she was stuck in this horrid place. Among these shems who kept acting like she was delusional or a human like them.

And the worst part did not even come from her so-called advisors.

It came from the flat ear called Solas.

He still looked at her with hidden condemnation in his eyes when she had attempted to be civil with him and speak about their people and his adventures in the Fade. It was no wonder the clans he had come across were not so kind to him, if this attitude of his were a hint of what they had dealt with.

It took all she had not to stick her foot up his behind when he made the mistake of asking, “How is it you believe yourself to be Dalish?”

She narrowed her eyes. “Care to illiterate that question?” Nyama asked.

“You are human, and it is unheard of that any clan would take in a human child. Let alone call them one of their own. I honestly find it hard to believe you were so openly accepted among them.”

His nerve! His arrogance! It made her blood boil. Nyama curled her hand into a fist, desperately wishing to punch him. But she did not. He had saved her, kept the mark from killing her. It would be a dishonor to strike him.

Sensing her rage, he quickly apologized, but she would not have it. Not from him, or anyone. “Tel abelas, hahren. Fen’Harel ma ghilana. Dirthara-ma,” she seethed and left him to himself.

After that little discussion, Nyama avoided him.

She was also not allowed near the merchants after one named Seggrit made the mistake of calling the poor girl who had been the first to see her upon her awakening ‘knife ear’ in her presence. He would be walking funny for a while. And if it wasn’t for Varric stepping in, the shemlen merchant would be currently sporting an impressive scar.

She definitely wouldn’t be entering the tavern again after getting into her fair share of brawls with several recruits. They had thought swapping stories about the times they’d bedded ‘elven whores’ and harassed more than one of the serving staff was perfectly acceptable behavior. A few broken bones, bruises, and injuries to their more sensitive parts had left her in hot water with her supposed council.

As soon as she had sealed the Breach, she would take the fastest steed she could find and leave this place. Leave all of these worthless, hateful, racist people behind and go back where she belonged.

Back to the clan who had raised her from an infant abandoned in the woods one winter to die. Back to the people who had helped train her in magic to one of the greatest huntresses among them. Back among those she loved and loved her. To those who had more sense than these lesser beings who barely had the brains that the Creators had given a nug. Back to her aravel, and her Keeper, and her siblings who she worried and loved more than anyone in this world.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In case anyone was wondering, what Nyama said translates as this:  
> Tel abelas, hahren. Fen’Harel ma ghilana. Dirthara-ma. = I'm not sorry, Elder. The Dread Wolf guides you. May you learn.  
> She's politely telling him off.


	3. A Gilded Cage is Still A Cage

The indignities would never end it seemed.

Nyama knew she was always being watched. She could feel their eyes on her. The spymaster, Leliana? Her agents were always just out of view, hovering in the shadows. She would keep herself busy making notes in her mind of where the best spots were so she might slip through and not be seen until she had escaped and was long gone. 

The Dalish girl still had yet to find where they put her weapons. Dirty shems. And they had the gall to go and accuse her kind of thievery? She wanted to wring someone’s neck. She was isolated and being constantly spied upon. All the elves around here were either part of Leliana’s group of scouts, or the flat eared servants who would all bow and hurry off.

So she would spend much of her time outside of Haven’s wall in the surrounding trees. Alone. Well not completely alone. More than once, the child of the stone would come find her. Ask her questions. Give her something to drink from the flask he carried. She didn’t know what was in that but it was tasty. Smooth and warmed her up just a little bit more.

“Please tell me you’ve not been out here in that tree all night?” he asked her one morning as the sun was just reaching mid point in the sky. “When I got too cold, I would slip close to the furnace near the blacksmith and get warm once more,” she informed him.

“You know they provided you a cabin,” he said with a half grin. She curled her lip and made a sound of disgust. “Not a fan of the Inquisition’s generosity?” he questioned.

“It is just another way they remind me of how I am their prisoner,” she stated flatly. “A gilded cage is still a cage. That cabin is a cell if not warmer and far less foul smelling than the ones in the dungeon. They have taken my bow and daggers and the armor given to me by my Keeper. I am constantly under watch by the agents of my captors. I cannot hunt. I cannot leave. I cannot contact my clan. I am a proclaimed Herald to a god I do not believe in. They see me as mad, delusional in my knowledge that I am Dalish. Apparently my appearances define me. My rounded ears give them some imagined claim to being human. I am no more one of them than you are, Ser Tethras. So no: I am no fan of their generosity.”

He cleared his throat and shook his head with a sigh. “Well, you got me there, Viper,” he admitted, holding his flask up to her. She took it with a raised eyebrow at what he called her and sipped the liquor within before handing it back to him.

“Are you calling me a snake?”

“Only as a compliment, I assure you,” he told her. “You’re quick, deadly, and should be approached with caution and respect.”

The reasoning was sound and she cocked her head ot the side, thinking. Viper. “I believe I can accept that nickname,” Nyama agreed. “Far better than Herald of Andraste, at least.”

He offered her his flask again and she lifted it up in a toasting motion before taking another sip. The alcohol warmed her up enough and she didn’t accept anymore drinks from him afterwards. “Oh before I forget,” Varric said with a twinkle in his eye. “I was given this to give to you.” He pulled a rolled up piece of parchment from his shirt and she took it curiously. Opening it, her dark blue eyes widened and her lips twitched fighting a smile on her face.

Keeper Deshanna’s smooth penmanship made the tightness in her muscles lessen as she read the words on the sheet before her. “Nightingale said you would be the best one to choose how they should respond. Said something about how if they decided well- that might end up badly since they haven’t dealt with clans directly.”

She swallowed and rolled the paper up, her expression softening slightly. “Thank you, Tethras.”

“Varric.”

“Varric,” she corrected. “I will,” she swallowed against the lump in her throat, “go speak with Leliana. I don’t wish for my clan to worry any longer for me than necessary. Dareth Shiral.”

Nyama made a beeline for the spymaster’s tent but she was not there. She headed into the chantry but Josephine was not in her office. An impatient frown marred her lips. She asked the enchanter, Minaeve, if she had seen either woman and the woman pointed to the direction of the War Room.

Biting the inside of her cheek hard, Nyama headed towards the room in question. She stopped, her hand hovering over the door handle as she heard the booming voice of Commander Cullen.

“I understand that’s she’s important but it’s all for naught if she won’t work with us! She’s refused to accept anything we give her at every turn.”

“My scouts,” she recognized the voice as Leliana’s, “report that she spent all night outside. Occasionally she would go over to the blacksmith Harrit’s place and get warm near the furnace, but a majority of the time she would spend in the trees.”

“So not only is she stubborn but she’s determined to make herself ill,” Cullen retorted. “Is there any way we can - I don’t know, convince her to act responsibly. That mark of hers is the only hope we have to seal the Breach and stop this madness. Instead, she’s acting like some petulant spoiled child convinced somehow she’s Dalish.”

“For all intents and purposes, Commander, she is Dalish. My sources have unearthed very little information, but what they did find was not good,” Leliana stated.

She felt her hackles rising at the whole conversation but refused to stop listening. The Orlesian woman sighed and Josephine spoke. “According to what we have discovered, she was left in the woods a few days after she was born. The Lavellan clan was in the area and found her. They tried taking her to people in a local village, however the villagers were… not friendly.”

She remembered the story told by her Keeper. A drunken rabble tried to accost several of the girls and it ended in blood. Shem blood mostly. A few of their hunters died as well, but she still could taste the bile in her throat at hearing the story.  _ Not friendly indeed _ , Nyama scoffed inwardly.

Josephine continued. “The clan has more than once fallen on hard times, but it would seem the Herald is quite an accomplished warrior. Another village who actually has more positive ties with them spoke of how their hunters actually once saw her take down a great bear.”

“I’m sure she and her fellow hunters are quite-”

“No, Commander,” Leliana corrected him. “She was on her own.”

“According to witnesses,” Josephine said, “she tried dragging the carcass back to the clan’s campsite on her own because she refused to accept the help of humans. They helped her anyway. Which turned out to be a good thing as her kill was actually shared with the hunters and opened up good ties between the village and Clan Lavellan. She obtained her first vallaslin after that.”

“I fail to see how this is relevant,” Cassandra spoke and there was a pause. Nyama imagined someone must have sighed. Leliana spoke. “It means that despite who she was born to and how others may see her, she views the Dalish as her family. And from the tone of the letter I received earlier that I entrusted Varric to give to her, they view her as one of them as well.”

“And we are the humans holding her captive, despite her agreeing to stay.”

She could hear something in Cassandra’s voice. Resignation? It didn’t matter. At least one of them was apparently realizing it now. “I’m sure it hasn’t helped that we’ve left her no choice,” Leliana mused. “After all, a certain Commander was very verbal in how things would go should she returned to her clansman.”

“I merely explained that she would put them all in danger. And even if she did manage to get back to them safely, there was no guarantee certain factions would leave them be if they were to find out her destination.”

“Thus another reason why it is near impossible to try discussing our next move with her at our sides. And also why she has been sleeping outside or making crude weapons to hunt the surrounding wildlife with,” Leliana stated coldly.

“We must figure a way to get her to work with us,” Josephine said. “Properly. Without her helping us gain allies and power, we cannot fix this mess. Everything we do depends on the Herald.”

“And our Herald is doing everything in her power to make us suffer,” Cullen grumbled. Cassandra spoke up, “I do not think that-”

The voices silenced and Nyama sighed. They finally noticed she was outside apparently. She opened the door and entered the room where the air was so tense you could cut it with a dull dagger. The Dalish warrior held up the piece of paper from her Keeper. “I was told you were open to having me discuss ways to respond to my Keeper’s letter, Spymaster.”

Looks were exchanged and she could feel the questions that they were not asking. How much had she heard? How long could they keep her there? Her back straightened and Leliana stepped forward. “Lady Lavellan, glad you could come.”

_ Liar. _

“We were discussing sending a small dispatch of soldiers with some supplies to help the clan alongside a-”

“You send soldiers and the clan will respond with violence,” she informed the Commander with a steely edge to her voice. “The last time armed forces came to us, it was a group of templars who were determined to take a few of us away on suspicion of blood mages or apostates being hidden among our clan.” The Commander’s face darkened and he gripped the pommel of his sword a bit tighter. Cassandra stood a little straighter. Josephine swallowed with round eyes. Leliana merely looked the same. “What happened?” Josephine asked in a tiny voice.

“I killed them.”

Sharp inhales were made and Cassandra looked at Cullen just for the briefest of moments. Nyama was puzzled about that but said nothing. “You mean you and several others-”

“No, I mean I killed those shemlens for coming into our territory and proclaiming superiority and hurling baseless accusations. When they dared laid their hands on our younglings, I sliced their throats open and let them choke on their own blood. All on my own. The other hunters had been out when the filth ambushed our guards, taking them hostage as they tried to force us to bow to their demands. This scar,” she pointed to the jagged healed cut across her nose, “was from that incident. My hatred for your kind is cemented in my bones and I doubt I will ever bring myself to trust you. I have only the illusion of freedom and thus I sleep outside in the trees and fix my own food. It’s better than sleeping in a cage, and I have no other way to procure food other than by my own hand. Or did you forget my altercations with your men over their actions, Commander?” she sneered.

“We understand this situation is not ideal, Lady Lavellan,” Josephine said in her most calming tone. “But we must ensure you are safe and healthy.”

“You mean so long as I have this attached to me and the Breach remains?” the warrior declared, holding her marked hand up. Leliana nodded. “Precisely. Which is why we ask that you please start sleeping indoors and allow a servant to assist you in procuring your meals. The Inquisition can ill afford you to act so… wild. The more power we gain the better we will be, and thus we can protect your clan from danger. You are an intelligent young woman, Herald. I’m sure you can see why we need you and you need us.”

The spymaster’s words were pretty and less inclined to have Nyama want to tear her apart than the commander’s had been. But Nyama could still see they meant the same thing as the commander’s.

“I want my weapons and armor returned to me,” she said in a voice that left little arguement. Yet the shemlen male still tried. “Absolutely not. How do we know you won’t-”

“I will have a stewart return the articles to you at once in your cabin,” Josephine agreed quickly. “And what of the response to your clan? How would you advise us to act?”

“We appreciate deeds. Not words. You have elven agents at your disposal?” Nyama glanced up at Leliana who nodded. “Send them a few things as a sign of goodwill alongside a letter I will write, telling my Keeper why I remain. Not soldiers. As I said, armed forces approaching will make them prone to attacking out of fear that they are there to subjugate us like the templars attempted.”

The Antivan wrote down what Nyama said and thanked her. Nyama turned to go but Cassandra spoke up. “In the morning after you have eaten… we were wondering if you would join us for a meeting. We have plans we must make.”

“As you wish, Seeker.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Holy shit, you guys! I didn't even know I had this chapter ready for publishing until I went to reread it for the newest chapter I was going to work on! I am SO SORRY!


End file.
